


this river's full of lost sharks

by hardlygolden



Category: Supernatural, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlygolden/pseuds/hardlygolden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: The dead are rising in Neptune, CA. Dean and Sam join forces with Veronica to investigate. Features Dean, Sam and Veronica, with appearances from most of the Neptune gang. Knowledge of VM helpful but not essential (although you'll need to bear in mind that Veronica is not a Mary Sue... she really is that awesome!) Timeline picks up a few years after Veronica Mars ends, following on from the events of Supernatural 4.22 – Lucifer Rising, spoilers for all previously aired episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this river's full of lost sharks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for diva5256 in spn_summergen.   
> Beta by that_september, any mistakes my own.  
> Title from _Secret Meeting_ by the National.  
> Warnings: passing reference to past non-con (Veronica Mars canon)
> 
> ... I was so tempted to call this 'dead blondes and the boys that loved them'. I had way too much fun hanging out with Veronica and the gang again, and delving into the points of connection between two of my favouritest shows. Hope you do too!

“Well, _that_ was a colossal waste of time,” complained Dean as they walked out of Mars Investigations.

“What were you expecting, Dean?” asked Sam. “A step-by-step instruction manual on the how’s and why’s of a zombie invasion?”

Dean tugged at his tie. He’d always hated wearing suits. “I was _expecting_ that we weren’t going to get stone-walled at every turn - but so far the fine citizens of Neptune have been keeping tight-lipped about this whole rising-dead thing.”

“I thought Mr. Mars was very polite,” said Sam.

“Oh, he was polite,” seethed Dean. “He was really, really polite. But everyone seems to be shutting us out. Don’t they see we’re just trying to help? And we can’t help if we don’t know more about this _zombie_. Come to that - are we sure that it’s even a zombie we’re dealing with? Or anything supernatural, for that matter? Everyone we’ve talked to so far seems to be giving us a different version of move along, nothing to see here.”

“Missouri seemed pretty convinced that something was going on,” said Sam. “And we’re outsiders, Dean. Of course they’re not going to trust us.”

“Oh, they’ll trust us alright,” Dean promised darkly. “We just need to _mingle_. I’ll take the hot blonde.” He gestured to indicate the woman who had just passed them on the sidewalk.

“Of course you will,” said Sam resignedly. “And what do you want me to do?”

“Here’s $20,” said Dean. “How about you go out and buy yourself something pretty, huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he looked more amused than annoyed, so Dean chalked it up as a win. “I’m going to go check out the library,” he said. “Call me when you’re done.”

Dean was half-way to catching up with the blonde woman when he noticed another woman leaning over the Impala.

“Hey,” he called out. “What are you doing to my car?”

“Relax,” she said, turning around and shooting him a pixie smile, and wow - this girl was gorgeous. Dean then and there retracted all his uncharitable thoughts about Neptune. “Just looking. It’s a really nice car.”

“Thanks,” Dean said automatically.

“What is it, a ’67?” she said, running her hand along the hood.

Dean gave her an appraising look. “Girl knows her cars.”

“Boy clearly doesn’t know his girls,” she retorted. “See, normally when talking to a woman, you’d use a name instead of a noun.”

“I’d love to,” said Dean, “except for how I don’t know yours.”

“Veronica.”

“Dean,” he said, holding out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, Dean,” she said. Her grip was surprisingly firm.

He cast a quick glance to his left, but the original blonde was out of sight. He decided he’d talk to a few more locals, grab some lunch, see what happened next.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Veronica,” he said.

“Count on it,” she said, winking.

*

The truth was, they knew nothing about Neptune. They’d been en route to San Diego when they’d got the call from Missouri.

"How you boys doing?” she’d said, in that breathless voice of hers. “Look, I know you’ve got enough going on lately, but I was hoping you boys could do me a personal favor. See, someone’s been messin’ around with the dead in California, little town called Neptune. I was hoping you boys could swing by and take a look, get to the bottom of it.”

Missouri wasn’t able to give them any more information than that. “My gift doesn’t work like that,” she’d said, getting agitated when Sam had pressed for specifics. “Don’t ask me who, what or how – I just know something dark is happening in that town, or going to happen.”

“What’s so important about Neptune?” Sam had asked.

“That’s no business but my own,” Missouri had chided, and then sighed. “I know it’s not a lot to go on…”

“It's fine,” Sam had interrupted, already calculating how long it would take them to get to Neptune. “Of course we’ll help. We’ve worked with less than that before.”

“Thank you,” Missouri had said, sounding relieved. “You say hello to that brother of yours for me, won’t you, Sam?”

Honestly, it was kind of a relief to have something as simple as a possible zombie insurrection to contend with, given the craziness of their lives lately.

*

They’d arrived in Neptune that morning, and started fishing for information.

Their first port of call had been the local county sheriff’s office, where they had been distinctly underwhelmed by the professionalism of Sheriff Van Lowe.

As they’d been walking out of his office, Inga the receptionist had pulled them aside. “If you want to know what’s really going on in this town,” she’d said, “you’d be better off talking to the former sheriff, Keith Mars. He runs his own private detective agency– Mars Investigations.” She’d pressed a business card into their hands, from a plentiful stack under her desk. From the practiced way she’d rattled off that explanation, it was a speech she delivered fairly regularly.

Keith had been much better to deal with than the sheriff – but he hadn’t had any information for them about any odd happenings in the town. The man could talk though – he’d kept peppering them with questions. Sam had got the feeling he would have kept them talking longer if he could. Unfortunately, after they’d finished the interview they were no closer to discovering anything unusual happening in Neptune – no strange deaths, no grave disturbances – nothing that sounded _remotely_ like their kind of thing.

They had nothing to go on, except this hunch of Missouri’s – but, as Sam had told her, they’d gone on less than that before – and he trusted her, and her gift. Still – he had a new appreciation for the blind faith Dean must have had in him when Sam used to wake Dean up in the middle of the night and make them drive clean across the country based on a glimpse he’d seen in a vision. Dean’s hands had always been clenched tight around the wheel, mouth clamped to hold back questions – but he’d driven them there, always – swift and straight and true every time, just on Sam’s say so.

He sighed; wondered if Dean would take his word for anything, these days.

He was on his way to the library when he saw it – a sign pointing towards the beach. Sam hesitated. The next logical step in the investigation, he knew, was exactly what he’d told Dean: go to the library, do some research, get his bearings. He should do that. Especially if Dean got shot down by whatever local woman he was currently chatting up, and came looking for him. Sam didn’t want Dean to have to wonder where he was, what he was up to. That had been the cause of too much friction between them already.

And yet it was such a perfect day outside – fresh air and warm Californian sunshine - and he’d _missed_ this. He changed course, deciding that a few hours at the beach were totally justifiable. After all, maybe it would be a good chance to talk to some of the Neptune locals.

So, Sam thought, as he strolled along the boardwalk. Mingle. He could do that.

There was a man sitting at a bench facing the ocean. He was absorbed in some papers. He was Sam’s age, maybe – or a couple of years younger.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Suit yourself,” said the man, not looking up from his reading.

Sam sat there for a few minutes, just looking out across the sun, sand and surf.

It was a postcard perfect day – kids building sandcastles; teenagers playing volleyball.

It was all so normal - a world apart from yellow-eyed demons and dark family secrets; from an angel and demon phoney war in all its apocalyptic fallout. From Lillith’s death, and everything after – and Sam shivered – because there were some things he wasn’t ready to deal with, not yet.

Jess had loved the beach.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, and laid it across the back of the bench.

The man sitting next to him looked at him curiously. “Not really dressed for the beach, are you?”

“Guess not,” said Sam, fingering his collar awkwardly.

“Let me guess,” said the man, flashing a grin – “can’t handle the Californian sun?”

Sam laughed; rubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he said, “actually, I used to live here for a couple of years. Palo Alto. I was studying at Stanford.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I was pre-law, but then I had to drop out.”

“Oh,” said the man, “how come?”

“My girlfriend died.” He hadn’t meant to say that – but now he was back in California again his defenses were down, memories flooding back unbidden and unchecked.

It seemed most things could be traced back to Jess, in the end.

The man stared at him for a long moment, measuring him up. “Logan,” he said, finally, holding out his hand. “Logan Echolls.”

*

Two hours later, Dean was happily devouring a cheeseburger in the local diner when Veronica slid into the seat across from him.

“So,” said Veronica. “Word on the street is that you’re an FBI agent.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dean, easy smile rising to his lips. “Want to see my badge?”

“No thanks,” said Veronica coolly. “I’ve got one of my own.”

“Is that so?” said Dean as he methodically slathered ketchup on his fries. “Aren’t you a little too hot for an FBI agent?”

“Aren’t you a little too alive for a dead person?” she countered.

Dean’s hand stilled half-way to the salt shaker.

“Yeah,” said Veronica. “That’s what I thought. So tell me, Bonnie – where’s Clyde?”

“Hold up - why am _I_ Bonnie?” protested Dean indignantly.

“_So_ not the point,” said Veronica. “Where’s your brother, Dean?”

“_So_ not the point,” echoed Dean. He could see the vein throbbing in Veronica’s forehead.

“Listen,” said Veronica, voice a sharp staccato. “When my dad told me there were two FBI agents in town, I checked it out. And imagine my surprise when I found out my dad had just met with two certifiably deceased members of America’s Most Wanted.”

“Wait,” said Dean. “You’re Keith Mars’ daughter?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?” she said. “_That’s_ what you’re choosing to focus on?”

“I’m just wrapping my head around it, sweetheart,” said Dean. “How’d you figure out we weren’t Feds, anyway?”

“Face it,” said Veronica, “Your car’s not exactly standard FBI issue. Some of your questions made my dad suspicious, so he gave me a call – then kept you talking while I did a little detective work of my own. And - voila!” She produced a handful of cards and dropped them on the table with a dramatic flourish.

Dean recognized the familiar collection of forged IDs. “You broke into my car?”

“Obviously,” she said. “Where did you make some of these, the local Copy Jack? I was making better fake IDs than this when I was fifteen.”

“So that would have been, what, last year?” said Dean. “Who do you think you are: Nancy Drew, teenage detective?”

Her eyes flashed, and she threw down another object on the table. “_This_ is what a legitimate FBI badge looks like,” she said. “FYI. Considering it’s pretty clear you’ve never actually seen one before. Oh, and you might want to check out whose name is written on it.”

Dean picked it up. “Your middle name’s Lianne? Huh. I’m learning so much about you.”

“Shut it,” she hissed. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you right now.”

“What are you going to arrest me for?” Dean said. “I’m dead, remember?”

“I can arrest you for grave desecration. And that’s just for starters.”

“Grave desecration?” asked Dean, leaning forward in his seat. “When?”

“Two days ago,” said Veronica, “why, don’t you remember doing it? According to your rap sheet, that’s one of your many specialties. Or is that more Sam’s style? You’ll have to forgive me – after reading both your files it just blends into one psychotic blur.”

“I hadn’t heard about any grave desecrations. How’d you find out about it?” asked Dean.

“Sherriff’s department tried to hush it up,” said Veronica. “It’d be bad press, and that’s something our esteemed Sherriff is most anxious to avoid. Only the families of the deceased were informed, officially.”

“And unofficially?”

“I have my sources,” she said, unsmiling. “What, you read about the Lilly Kane murder and thought it would be fun to mess with a town that’s already been through too much?”

“Listen,” Dean said, “I don’t even know who this Lilly Kane chick is.”

“She was my best friend,” Veronica said, and her voice was steady but her hands weren’t as they fidgeted with her badge.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, meaning it.

She looked at him curiously. “You are, aren’t you? Well, if you aren’t here to vandalize, loot and pillage, it raises the question: what _are_ you doing here?”

Dean didn’t even look up. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.

“Try me,” she challenged. “What brings you to our sunny town?”

“Zombies.”

“As in, Romero?” she said, crinkling her nose.

“Actually, we don’t know yet,” Dean said. “Could be zombies, could be your standard issue haunting. Personally? I’m hoping its zombies.” He winked.

She stared at him. “This is the part where I tell you you’re crazy, by the way.”

“O-kay,” said Dean, slowly.

“You’re. Crazy,” she said – and then paused. “And now _this_ is the part where you try to convince me. So. Convince me.”

“It’s a bit hard,” said Dean, “what, am I supposed to just produce a zombie out of thin air?”

“That would be a start.”

“Well, I can’t,” said Dean. “If I knew where it was, I wouldn’t have bothered your dad with all those questions, would I?”

Veronica pursed her lips. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Dean looked at her. “What, you’re going to help me?” he asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that,” said Veronica. “I’m just – curious.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “Crash-course to zombie hunting 101, coming right up.”

Veronica widened her eyes at him. “Word to the wise,” she confided, “I’m a _very_ fast learner.”

*

When he’d finished, she wasn’t looking repulsed or revolted or like she was about to handcuff him to the table – which Dean supposed was a start.

Instead, she sat back in her chair and pursed her lips. “Isn’t this all a bit hypocritical, anyway – the undead hunting the undead?”

“Huh,” said Dean, “I’ve honestly never thought about it like that. But seriously – once we find the zombie we can do a police line-up, and you can play spot the human. And trust me sweetheart, it’ll be me, every time. Here’s a clue: I’ll be the one that’s not rotting.”

“Rotten, maybe,” she said, with a quirk of her lips that was almost a smile.

“Maybe,” Dean agreed. “Truce?”

“I still don’t trust you,” she said.

“I never said anything about trust.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Truce. Hey - does this mean I finally get to meet Clyde?”

Her laughter drowned out Dean’s groan.

*

“Sam, this is Veronica Mars. I like her,” said Dean, by way of introduction. “She’s _sassy_.”

“Sassy?” Sam snorted. “What are you – seventy?”

Dean scowled. “People say sassy.”

“_Old_ people say sassy,” said Veronica. “Myself? I prefer peppy.”

“Peppy,” repeated Dean.

“Yeah,” said Veronica, extending her arms like a cheerleader. “I’m about as peppy as they come.”

Sam laughed.

“What can I say,” said Veronica comfortably. “I got style.”

*

They were walking back towards the Impala when Sam realised he recognized the person approaching them.

“Frak,” said Veronica, quietly, from somewhere behind Dean’s left shoulder. “Frakity-frak-frak-frak.”

“You two know each other?” Sam said, looking between the two of them.

“We’re old friends,” Logan said smoothly. “Sam, this is Veronica Mars. Veronica, this is Sam - ”

“Winchester, I know,” she said, briskly. “We’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” said Logan, giving Dean a once-over. “Logan Echolls.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean said, holding out his hand.

Logan shook it, but he never took his eyes off Veronica. “What are you doing here?” he said, the question clearly directed at her.

“What, no ticker tape parade? Not even a welcome home fruit basket?” she asked, and there was something in her smile that made Dean think of his favorite knife –shiny and sharp and dangerous to be on the wrong side of.

“Whoopsie-daisy,” said Logan, making a show of emptying his pockets. “Would you look at that? I’m fresh out of second chances.”

She sighed. “Typical,” she said.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Logan. “What brings you to town, Veronica?”

“What, you miss me?” she flung back.

“Like the Joker misses Batman,” smirked Logan, and then his face smoothed out, all traces of joking gone. “You’re here about Lilly’s grave, aren’t you?”

“How do you know about that?” challenged Veronica. “Only the families were told.”

“Oh geez Veronica,” said Logan, “did it ever cross your mind that people talk?”

She looked at him steadily. Logan ducked his head.

“Jake Kane called me,” he said. “He wanted to let the people who cared about Lilly know.” His eyes glittered as he looked up. “Why, were you not on the list?”

*

“Man, that Veronica, huh?” Dean said, rummaging through his duffel bag for a clean shirt. He pulled a blue one out and sniffed it dubiously. “What a pistol.”

He chuckled.

Sam didn’t respond. He was hunched over the flimsy desk of their motel room, flicking through a demonology book Bobby had lent them. Dean snapped his fingers. “Am I talking to myself here, Sam?”

Sam looked up, startled. “What?” he said. “Sorry. I just –“

Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, jaw tight.

“Dean,” Sam said, earnest. “I really was listening.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Whatever.” He pulled his shirt on over his head, and when he looked over at Sam, Sam had set the book down and was looking straight at him.

“Hey,” said Sam. “I’m going to go check out the bar, grab a drink. Want to come?”

“Thanks,” Dean said, “but Veronica and I are going to take a look at the cemetery first. See what we can find. Might swing by later, though?”

“Okay,” said Sam. “Listen, do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah,” said Dean, shrugging into his jacket, “it’s fine – besides – we’re _mingling_, remember.” He flashed Sam a half-hearted grin, keys jangling in his pocket as he walked out.

Sam tried to pretend the sound of the door shutting behind him wasn’t as final as it sounded. It would take awhile to get back to their old rhythms, he knew that.

*

When Dean knocked on Veronica’s door, a man opened it - her boyfriend, maybe, Dean couldn’t tell.

“Hey,” said Dean, plastering on a friendly smile. “Is Veronica around?”

“Who might you be?”

“Down, boy,” said Veronica, appearing in the hallway. “Honestly Wallace, you’re more protective than Backup, sometimes.”

“Backup?” said Dean quizzically – before he was nearly bowled over by a blur of fur.

“Yeah,” Veronica said, grabbing Backup’s collar and hauling him away from Dean. “Wallace, this is Dean, Dean, Wallace,” she rattled off, and then grinned cheekily. “And I believe you’ve met Backup.”

Dean gritted his teeth, tried to recover his composure.

“Hey,” said Veronica, taking a closer look at him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I just. I don’t really enjoy being mauled by dogs.”

Wallace snorted. “Who does,” he said, patting Backup.

*

Sam walked into the noisy bar, and craned his neck, looking around. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to see Logan sitting in a corner by the bar, cradling a beer, staring at the scrolling-text headlines on the evening news.

Sam settled into the seat beside him. “Didn’t feel like joining the party?” he asked. “It’s pretty wild in here. I could hear the noise from a couple of blocks away.”

“Bachelor party,” Logan said briefly. “But I’m not really in the partying mood.”

“You know the guest of honor?” asked Sam.

“Chip Diller,” Logan said. “We were both at Hearst together. I actually went to high-school with his fiancée.” He gave a wry smirk at the last word, but didn’t elaborate.

“Oh?” said Sam. “I hope that’s not your high-school sweetheart he’s marrying.”

Logan snorted. “No chance of that. Those two deserve each other.”

Raucous laughter broke out from the rest of the bar, and Logan turned slightly away, indicating that the conversation was over. “Hey,” said Sam, leaning in closer. “Listen, can I ask you a question?”

“Apparently,” Logan said, eyes still following the text on the television screen.

“So,” Sam said. “I hear you were pretty close to Lilly Kane.”

Logan downed his glass and slid it along the counter. “Refill, please,” he said to the bartender, without looking up. “What are you - a hack journalist doing some sort of fucked-up ‘five years on’ retrospective? Newsflash: not interested.” He made a dismissive motion with his hands.

“No,” said Sam. “I’m not writing an article or anything, I swear. I just – I need your help.”

“My help,” repeated Logan. “Congratulations, that’s a new angle. But the answer’s still no.”

“Look,” continued Sam. “I heard about the grave desecrations. I’m trying to find out who’s behind it.”

“Well, whoop-de-doo, that’s very creepy vigilante of you,” said Logan, “but I’ve already told the police everything I know – which is nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch.”

Sam paused, trying to choose the right words. “Truth is, I’ve come across this sort of thing before,” he said finally. “I know what to look for – the kinds of things the police don’t even realize are important. I know it’s hard to talk about something like this –“

“Oh, you _know_ do you?” said Logan, turning to fully face him. “Do you know what it’s like knowing that your girlfriend was killed because you weren’t there?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, voice heated. “My girlfriend died when I was about your age, so, yeah, actually, I know _exactly_ what that’s like.”

“It’s just. Losing Lilly like that,” said Logan, slowly. “I know I’m sure as hell not the only one that’s lost someone they love. But how’s this for fucked-up – it was my _father_ that killed her. So tell me – do you know what that’s like?”

Sam’s mind flashed back to a nursery, drops of blood falling into a baby’s mouth, his mother’s pleading face, _“Sam, I’m sorry”_. Blood will out, always and forever, and Winchester blood was not the only kind that flowed through his veins.

“No,” he lied. “I can’t even imagine.”

Logan took another swig of his drink. “It’s just. You blame yourself, you know?” he said, staring out into the distance, unseeing.

“Yeah,” echoed Sam. “I know.”

They were silent for a long moment, and then Logan collected himself – and it was fascinating watching him fold his emotions back in like they’d never existed at all. “This conversation has turned far too maudlin for my liking,” he said, showman smile firmly back in place. “I need some fresh air.”

*

“Well,” said Veronica, “this is the graveyard.”

Dean looked around. “Huh,” he said. “It’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox. This fencing looks brand new.”

“Yeah,” said Veronica, “It is. They put it in two days ago.” At Dean’s quizzical look, she elaborated. “When the graves of some of the richest families in Neptune get vandalized, you find the problem gets fixed pretty quickly to avoid a repeat incident.”

Dean whistled. “Nice,” he said. “So, how do you plan on getting in?”

“Through this gate,” said Veronica.

“Run that by me again?” said Dean, skeptically. “This locked automatic gate?” He tested the high metal fence, feeling for a grip. “Here, I think I can climb over.”

“Yeah,” said Veronica, “you probably could. But I can’t.”

“I could give you a leg-up,” Dean cajoled. “C’mon, live a little.”

“I think I’ll stick with my way,” said Veronica.

“And your plan for opening the _locked_ gate is...”

“Open sesame,” said Veronica, waving her hands in a theatrical gesture – and the gate swung open with a mechanical groan.

Dean looked around, startled. “How did you know that was going to happen?”

“It’s not what you know,” said Veronica conversationally, “it’s _who_ you know. And I have friends in very, very low places.”

“Hey!” protested Dean.

“Relax,” came a voice. “She wasn’t talking about you, were you V?”

*

The streets were fairly quiet in the walk from the bar to the beach. They only passed one teenager on the boardwalk.

Logan clutched Sam’s sleeve. “Sam,” he said slowly. “Exactly how much did I just drink?”

“Couple of beers,” said Sam. “How come?”

“Did you see that guy we just passed?” asked Logan, and there was something desperate in his voice.

“Yeah,” said Sam, “Why, you know him?”

“Yeah,” said Logan, jaw clenched. “He was my best friend’s kid brother.”

“Was?” said Sam, dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” said Logan. “But – it can’t be him. That’s impossible. I saw him die myself.”

“What?” said Sam, whipping around to look for the boy – but he was out of sight. “Stay here,” he said to Logan, and jogged off, in the direction the boy had gone. There was no trace of him. “He’s gone,” said Sam, as he walked back to Logan.

Logan shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “It was just a weird coincidence. It’s dark, and I’ve been drinking.”

“Who did he remind you of?” pressed Sam.

“B – Cassidy,” said Logan. “Cassidy Casablancas. But like I said, I saw him shuffle off this mortal coil.” Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. ”Leap, actually.”

“Violent death?” Sam probed.

“You could say that. You could also say he didn’t get half of what he deserved.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“He engineered a bomb that blew up a school bus with eight people on it,” said Logan, and then – voice low, “He raped my girlfriend.”

“Wait,” said Sam, trying to reconcile that with the glimpse of the face he had seen. The boy had looked so young – just a kid himself. “Wait, he raped Lilly?”

Logan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No,” he said, “not Lilly. Veronica.”

“_Veronica_ was your girlfriend?” asked Sam. They’d stopped walking, and were just standing by the boardwalk now. For a moment, the rhythmic pounding of the surf was the only sound in the world – until Logan finally spoke.

“Yeah,” said Logan, stooping down to pick up a broken fragment of shell, turning it over in his hands. “She was. Until I blew it. Then she wasn’t. Rinse and repeat.”

“Whoa,” said Sam. “Sounds complicated.”

Logan snorted. “Try living it,” he said, but there was something wistful in his voice that made Sam think that he’d be ready to try again, and again, and again. “We were epic, you know?” he said, staring out to sea.

“Maybe you still can be,” said Sam.

Logan shook his head. “Bit hard when the lady in question won’t even talk to me,” he said. “Dr Phil said it best - communication _truly_ is the key to every relationship.”

He hurled the shell he’d been toying with into the waves – but it fell short, lying a foot from the tide line.

“In relationships, as in life - I’m a perpetual screw-up,” said Logan. “Just ask Veronica.”

*

“How you doing, Weevil?” said Veronica.

He gave her a one-armed hug, and then pulled away.

“You’re looking good, girl,” he said – and then, in a more serious voice, “How you been, Veronica? We missed you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

She turned to Dean. “This is Eli Navarro. He works part-time as a security guard, while he’s studying to be a cop. After the grave desecrations, they hired Weevil to patrol.”

“Was a time not so long ago when I was who people were trying to keep out,” said Weevil. “My, how the tables have turned.”

Veronica smiled. “You’ve done good, Weevil,” she said. “And thanks for letting us in. I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

Weevil smirked. “Miss out on the chance to help an FBI agent break into a crime scene?” he said. “Not likely. But, seriously V,” he added, “I hope you catch the bastards that did this to Lilly’s grave.”

“Can you show us the damage?” said Veronica, walking alongside him.

“I’ll take you there right now,” said Weevil. They began walking through the rows of graves. It was a huge cemetery – sprawling and overgrown. Dean tried to get his bearings, judge how far they were from the main road.

“How many graves were affected?” Dean asked, as they walked.

Weevil met his eyes. “A lot,” he said. “Lilly’s was the worst. Think they must have been aiming for her.”

“And nobody saw anything?” Dean said.

“It’s a graveyard,” said Weevil, “nobody comes here at night.”

“_Someone_ obviously did,” said Veronica darkly – they’d reached the site where the damaged graves were. The area had been cordoned off with police security tape. Weevil lifted the corner of it up and Veronica and Dean ducked underneath. He followed behind them.

There were about ten graves that had been affected. Dean slowly walked down the line of graves, memorising the names. _Ed Doyle. Rhonda Landers. Peter Ferrer. Marcus Oliveres. David Moran. Meg Manning. Cassidy Casablancas._ The dirt around all of them had been disturbed, and a foul smell permeated the air.

“Hey,” Dean said, staring at the dates. “Any particular reason why most of these people died on the same day?”

“Yeah,” supplied Weevil. “School bus went off a cliff.”

“That’ll do it,” said Dean, running his hand through his hair. He looked across the area for signs of dead grass. It looked as if someone had lit a fire all around the graves, and he couldn’t tell whether the grass was wilted or just burnt. Either way, though, it wasn’t _normal_ – which meant that yeah, this was probably definitely their kind of case.

He looked up, and there was Veronica, standing frozen in front of a grave a few feet away. The marble headstone had been heavily battered; most of the lettering chiseled off. The faded remnants of the word “slut” were emblazoned in red paint.

As if in a trance, Veronica reached out to touch it.

Weevil ducked his head. “It wouldn’t wash off,” he said, “not completely.”

Veronica turned and faced him. “I’m going to find whoever did this, Weevil.”

Weevil gave her a small but sincere smile. “You always do.”

*

“I’ve got a name for you,” said Sam, as he entered their motel room.

“Yeah?” Dean said, looking up from the laptop. “Me too.”

“Cassidy Casablancas,” said Sam, at the same time as Dean said, “Lilly Kane.”

They stared at each other. “You go first,” said Dean, awkwardly.

“No,” said Sam, staring at him, “what did you find about Lilly?”

“Her grave,” said Dean, “it’s the one with the most damage. Definitely the main target of the attacks. Still could be a hate crime, but I’m thinking it was something darker.” He looked up, caught Sam’s eye. “What, not impressive enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” said Sam, “was she spotted walking the streets tonight? Cassidy was.”

Dean stared. “You _have_ been busy,” he said. “You saw him yourself?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago,” said Sam. “Logan was the one who recognized him. He was walking downtown tonight, by the boardwalk.”

“That would fit with the grave desecrations,” said Dean. “His was in the area that had been disturbed.” He rubbed his hands together. “About time we got a solid lead.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, sitting down on the bed next to Dean. “Here, gimme that.”

Dean passed him the laptop, and Sam began tapping on the keyboard. Dean started taking off his boots, flicked on the television.

“So,” Dean said, five minutes and twelve channels later. “What you find? He got any family that could be putting the hoodoo on him?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Sam, scanning the computer screen. “Talk about your dysfunctional family, though - father in jail, mother overseas, stepmother murdered. There’s an older brother, Richard. Don’t know where he is.”

“Lemme see,” said Dean, and Sam passed him the laptop. Dean whistled. “Eleven counts of murder, two of attempted murder. Someone’s been busy.”

“Logan said Cassidy blew up a school bus with eight people on it,” offered Sam.

“_That_ was him?” said Dean. “Man. I saw the graves of all those kids tonight. And people think _my_ rap sheet’s bad.”

Sam gave him a severe look. “Your rap sheet _is_ bad, Dean,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes as he thrust the laptop back at Sam. “On paper, sure,” he said, “but we both know I didn’t do hardly any of that stuff. Maybe this Cassidy kid didn’t either.”

“Oh,” said Sam, snapping the laptop closed, “I’m pretty sure he did. What I don’t understand is what kind of motivation a kid has for doing something like that?”

Dean shook his head. “No idea,” he said, “Veronica, on the other hand? I’m guessing she’ll have several.”

*

Veronica stared at them both across the countertop of the diner the next morning. “You’re saying Cassidy’s a zombie,” she said, flatly.

“Could be,” said Dean. “Or a ghost. But he’s a _something_, that’s for damn sure.”

“And you’re positive?”

“Logan saw him last night,” said Sam, “or at least, someone that he said looked exactly like him. That, plus his was one of the graves that were desecrated – it seems too much of a coincidence. We’re going to check his grave tonight, just to make sure.”

She buried her head in her hands, and mumbled something.

“What’s that?” asked Dean.

She surfaced, her blonde braids askew. “I said, does Logan know?”

“Not really,” said Sam. “He thought he’d just drunk too much.”

“Veronica,” said Dean, leaning in. “Is there anyone that would want to bring Cassidy back?”

She shook her head. “He was a bit of a loner,” she said, “He didn’t have too many friends. He was dating my friend Mac– but trust me, there is _no_ way she’d want to see him ever again.”

“The police report said Cassidy had an older brother,” pressed Sam.

Veronica smiled half-heartedly. “Ah, yes, the irrepressible Dick Casablancas. Last I heard, he was living it large overseas. I don’t know where exactly – Logan would probably know for sure. They were best friends.”

“So you can’t think of _anyone_ who’d want to,” Dean scratched his chin, “bring him back into the land of the living?”

“Plenty of people,” said Veronica, “just so they could kill him again. This town was really torn apart by the bus crash.”

“About that,” said Sam. “Do you have any idea why he’d do something like that?”

Veronica looked down at her hands. “How much time do you have?” she said. “’Cause it took me months to figure out he was the one behind it. It’s a long story - turns out he was trying to silence a few kids on that bus who were about to make some pretty strong allegations about Woody Goodman, the local Mayor.”

“That’s a whole new level of patriotism,” said Dean. “So Cassidy liked this Goodman guy, huh?”

Veronica shook her head. “Hardly. The kids were going to testify that Woody had molested them when he’d been the coach of their softball team. Beav- I mean, Cassidy – he was one of the other victims.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah, well,” said Veronica. “Cassidy had the last laugh – just before he died he blew up Mayor Goodman’s helicopter.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” he said.

Veronica shuddered. “Yeah,” she said. “I saw it myself.

“Logan was there too, wasn’t he?” said Sam. “He said he saw Cassidy die.”

Veronica stared at him. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “We both did.”

*

As they were making their way out of the diner, Veronica paused.

“Would you mind if we stop by the florist first?” she asked. “I want to get some flowers for Lilly’s grave, for when we go back tonight.”

“No problem,” said Sam, “we’ll just wait out here.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said. “I won’t be long.”

True to her word, a few minutes later Veronica reappeared, carrying an armful of tulips so enormous that she nearly knocked over the blonde woman about to enter the store.

“Excuse you,” came a snooty voice.

“Sorry,” said Veronica, peering around her bouquet – and then - “Madison?”

Madison wrinkled her nose. “Veronica Mars,” she said. She sounded as if she had tasted something very vile.

“Funny, I never pictured you as a flower person,” Veronica mused. “Poison ivy, sure, but flowers?’

Madison jutted out her hip. “For your information, _Veronica_, I’m finalizing the flower arrangements for my wedding next week.”

“Who’s the lucky groom?” asked Veronica.

“Logan,” said Madison – and then burst into a peal of laughter at the expression on Veronica’s face. “Couldn’t resist. Not that it’s any of your business – but Chip Diller, actually.”

“Oh, and how _is_ Chip?” asked Veronica. “Still partying like it’s 1999?”

“For your information, Chip’s doing very well for himself,” Madison said. “He’s just started his own car dealership.”

Veronica nodded slowly. “Mrs. Chip Diller, huh? I can honestly say that you two will be _perfect_ for one another.”

Madison glared. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” she said archly.

“You’d be wrong,” said Veronica, saccharine sweet.

“Remind me: did you leave this town voluntarily or did they run you out with torches and pitchforks?” asked Dean curiously as they walked back to the Impala.

Veronica shrugged. “A little from column A and a little from column B,” she quipped, unsmiling. “C’mon,” she said, “let me introduce you to a few people in this town that _don’t_ completely suck.”

*

When he saw Mac, Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he said. “_That’s_ your computer geek?”

“Yeah,” said Veronica. “She’s the real deal – high school computer genius, and now she’s got Google breathing down her neck for her algorithms. Don’t let the pink hair throw you off – Mac knows her stuff.”

Dean chuckled. “I’ve learnt to look past the hair. You shoulda seen our last computer geek. Guy had the worst mullet I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah,” said Veronica, interested. “Why can’t he help you out this time?”

Dean’s expression darkened. “He’s dead,” he said, shortly.

“Really dead, or dead like you?” pressed Veronica.

Dean’s mouth pursed into a thin line. “Sweetheart, nobody’s dead like me,” he said. He didn’t have to look at Sam to know he was frowning.

*

They had to wait until after dark before they could go back to the graveyard – but as soon as the blanketing darkness arrived they made their way there.

Sam gave a low whistle as he surveyed the damage. “Someone was really trying to cover their tracks, huh.”

“The best defense is a good offence,” said Dean.

“Yeah, well, this is pretty offensive,” said Veronica. She lay the flowers down at Lilly’s grave, and stood back – then went and fussed with them some more. It seemed such a _girly_ thing to do, and Dean almost commented, but then he thought of the lost way that Veronica had stared at Lilly’s grave last night, and he didn’t say anything.

“They look nice,” said Sam – and trust _Sam_ to chat about flowers.

“Good,” said Veronica. “I usually stick with tulips. Lilies seem too cliché, and roses…”

“Are lame,” Sam finished, with a twist to his smile Dean couldn’t fathom.

Dean turned away, picked up a shovel. He walked over to Cassidy’s grave and started digging. Veronica followed, looking pale – or maybe it was just the moonlight.

“Dirt’s been turned up pretty recently,” Sam noted.

Dean nodded in response; kept digging. Veronica watched in silence, hugging her arms close to her chest.

“Got it,” Dean grunted, as the shovel struck wood.

“Here,” said Sam, jumping down beside him in the grave, “let me.”

“Well, _that’s_ not what I was expecting,” said Veronica, as Sam pried open the lid of the coffin.

“Empty,” Dean pronounced grimly.

“Uh,” said Sam, holding up a small cloth bag. “Not quite.”

“I frickin’ _hate_ witches,” Dean growled, throwing down his shovel.

*

As soon as they’d got back to the Camelot Motel Dean headed to the bathroom to wash off the grave-dirt.

When Dean emerged from the shower ten minutes later, Veronica was sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching Sam. “Okay,” said Sam, staring at the contents of the cloth bag scattered out across the bedspread. “I think I’ve identified all of them. I gotta say, some of these are pretty rare.”

“Neptune doesn’t really seem like the kind of place that would have a Necromancy-Herbs-R-Us,” said Dean. “I mean, New Orleans it is not.”

“No,” said Sam, “which means there’s a chance the person may have ordered them online.”

“So we’re looking for the Wicked Witch of Craig’s List?” said Veronica.

“Hopefully,” said Sam. “The other option is that they could have homegrown them, or bought them in another town, but…”

“But that would be much harder to track,” finished Veronica, looking thoughtful.

“Yeah, well, this could be hard to track too,” said Dean.

“Don’t worry,” said Veronica breezily. “We’ll just follow the Megabyte Road.”

*

As they walked into Mac’s well-lit loft apartment, Veronica stopped so suddenly Sam nearly ran into her. Then he realised what must have caught her attention, because there was Logan Echolls, casually leaning on Mac’s desk. Mac was doubled over laughing at something he’d just said. There were takeout containers strewn across the table.

Mac looked up. “Veronica!” she exclaimed. “What brings you back so soon?”

Veronica hesitated, and Logan gave a tight smile. “Guilty until proven innocent,” he said. “I almost forgot how your mind works.” He rose to his feet smoothly. “I was just leaving,” he said. “See you later, Mac,” and he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

He didn’t look at Veronica as he walked out.

“Well,” said Mac. “I’m glad that wasn’t the slightest bit awkward. What can I do for you, anyway?”

“We need you to access some records for us,” said Dean, easy smile firmly in place.

“Sure thing,” said Mac. “What for?”

“Just a case we’re working on,” said Veronica.

“Even Q had a better idea of what Bond was up to,” complained Mac.

“Trust me,” said Veronica, “you _really_ don’t want to know.”

“I do trust you,” said Mac, flashing her a smile. “Besides, plausible deniability - who am I to argue with that? So, what do you need?”

Sam consulted his notebook. “Ah,” he said, “the billing records of anyone in Neptune who purchased a supply of yew leaves, wormwood, juniper berries and dittany in the last few weeks. Oh, and oil of Cypress.”

“What is this,” asked Mac, “some kind of gross-out science project?”

Dean grimaced. “Something like that.”

Mac started typing in some commands. “Okay,” she said, “it’ll take awhile for the computer to sift through everything but I should have something for you soon.”

“That’d be great,” Sam said.

Veronica picked up an over-sized Magic Eight-Ball on Mac’s desk. She shook it, frowned, then shook it again. “You and Logan seem pretty close,” she observed, in what Dean assumed was meant to be a casual tone.

It wasn’t.

Mac rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that,” she said. “I’ve been helping him with a few business projects he’s been working on.”

“Logan, working?” said Veronica, pretending to weigh up the two options. “Those two concepts don’t really seem to go together.”

“People change, Veronica,” said Mac. “You can’t expect to find us exactly where you left us.”

Veronica looked down, shook her head.

“I wasn’t trying to leave anyone,” she said, and her voice was soft.

“Maybe not,” said Mac, “but you did.”

*

“Explain to me again why we’re doing this?” said Veronica, as they stood on the rooftop of the Neptune Grand.

“We can’t rule anything out,” Sam said. “We know roughly what sort of ritual was used to bring Cassidy back, but we don’t know much about it. It could be tied to the place he died. Maybe there’s a clue here.”

“We just want to get a feel for it,” Dean said, running his hand over the security railing. “I’m guessing this was installed post swan-dive?” He peered over the edge and whistled. “That’s a long way to fall.”

Veronica wrapped her arms tighter around herself as she nodded.

Sam resumed pacing the rooftop. “This is a waste of time, Dean,” he said, “I really don’t think there’s anything here.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right,” said Dean. They started walking back towards the door that led to the stair-case.

Veronica’s cell phone rang, and she half-turned away to answer it. “Hello,” she said, cupping her hand around her ear – then - “Where are you? Calm down, we’ll be right there.”

She turned to Dean and Sam. “Mac just saw Beaver.”

*

When they got to Mac’s apartment, the front door was wide open, swinging on its hinges. Veronica charged straight in before Dean could stop her.

Veronica rapped on the bedroom door, twisted the handle. Locked. “Mac,” she said, “it’s me.”

She turned to Dean, bit her lip. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Here,” said Dean, shouldering her aside and he _kicked_ and the door burst open. Mac was crumpled in the corner, curled up in the narrow space between the bed and the wall.

Veronica rushed over and threw her arms around her;

Mac's eyes were red-rimmed. “It’s like it’s happening all over again,” she said. Veronica smoothed her hair. “I _saw_ him, Veronica.”

“I know,” Veronica soothed. “I know.”

Mac looked up at her. “You _know_? Shouldn’t you be telling me I’m just imagining this?” she said, “rather than kicking my door down? Why are you taking this whole dead-man-walking thing so calmly?”

Veronica sighed. “I don’t know how to explain.”

“Just tell me what’s going on,” said Mac.

“Zombie,” said Dean.

“_What? _” asked Mac, staring.

Sam glared at Dean. “You couldn’t have broken it any more gently?” he hissed.

Dean shrugged. “She wanted to know what was going on. Besides, how would you have explained it?”

“Not like that,” Sam sputtered.

Mac looked between them. “You’re both crazy,” she said. “Veronica, why aren’t you saying anything?”

Veronica bit her lip. “They’re telling the truth, Mac. Someone’s bought Cassidy back to life.”

Mac took a deep breath. “Well,” she said, “isn’t it nice that we can all be crazy together. So you’ve seen him too?”

“No,” said Veronica, “not me. Logan has, but he thought it was just imagining it. Dean and Sam heard something was going on in Neptune and came to figure it out. That’s actually the case I was getting your help on – the one I couldn’t tell you about.”

“You knew about all of this and you didn’t tell me?” said Mac.

Veronica looked at her levelly. “Would you have wanted me too?”

Mac shook her head. “No,” she said, “you’re right. Thanks.” She rubbed her eyes. “Speaking of the case, I did get one hit on that search I was running.”

“Yeah?” Dean said. “Who was it?”

Mac shot a quick look at Veronica. “Madison Sinclair.”

“_Madison? _” said Dean. “As in, hot blonde Madison?”

“_Madison_ brought Cassidy back to life?” said Veronica, “but that doesn’t make any sense! Why would she do that?”

Mac coughed. “I could probably guess,” she said. “Maybe.”

“Yeah?” said Dean, half-turning.

“Would it be too melodramatic if I suggested it was to get back at me?” said Mac. There was complete silence. Mac shrugged. “Yeah, it sounded melodramatic in my head too.”

“No,” said Sam, “it depends. What have you done to piss Madison off?”

“Well, there _is_ that whole thing about us being swapped at birth,” said Mac.

Dean’s eyes bugged out. “_Seriously? _” he said. “That actually happens? I thought that was just an urban myth.”

“You deal with urban legends every day, yet _that_ surprises you,” said Veronica dryly.

“Mac,” said Sam, “Can you tell us more about what happened tonight? You said you saw him - what did he do?”

“I opened the door, and he was just – _there_,” said Mac. “I screamed, like the dumb girl in every teenage horror flick _ever_ and then ran upstairs.”

Dean frowned. “So you left the front door open?” he said.

Mac looked down. “It was stupid, I know,” she said. “I just wanted to get out of there – I ran up to my bedroom and locked the door.” She turned to Veronica. “That was when I called you.”

Sam was looking thoughtful. “What did Cassidy do next?” he said.

Mac shivered. “Don’t call him that,” she said. “That wasn’t Cassidy. Cassidy’s dead.”

“Sorry,” Sam amended hastily. “I mean – what did _it_ do next?”

Mac stared at him. “I don’t know,” she said.

“He didn’t follow you?” said Dean.

Mac shook her head firmly. “No,” she said. “I mean, yeah, he did, I could hear him on the stairs. He was right outside my door for ages, I could hear him – and then he left right before you guys got here.”

“He didn’t try to break your door down, didn’t try to force his way in?” said Dean, locking eyes with Sam and quirking an eyebrow.

“No,” said Mac, “nothing like that. He just – he knocked.” And then she burst into tears.

“Hey,” said Sam, patting her shoulder. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

*

Dean pulled Veronica aside. “Veronica,” he said, “who do you think Cassidy would blame for his death?”

“He jumped,” said Veronica. “I didn’t – I didn’t _kill_ him.”

Dean swung around, startled. “Hey,” he said awkwardly, “I know that. I just meant – well, the undead aren’t really about distinctions like that, you know? If he blames you, it doesn’t matter if you didn’t pull the trigger.”

Veronica swiped her eyes. “I nearly did,” she said in a soft voice. “Pull the trigger, that is. I would have, too, if it wasn’t for Logan.”

Dean looked at her. “Good thing Logan was there, huh.”

“Yeah,” Veronica said. “But Cassidy - he probably would blame me anyway. If I hadn’t kept digging, he would have gotten away with the bus crash, with everything.”

Dean rubbed his hand across his chin. “Reason I ask is most zombies generally have one thing on their mind,” he said. “Revenge.”

“_That’s_ not at all ominous,” said Veronica. “So: what do we do now?”

“Find Cassidy,” said Dean grimly. “Or Madison. Whichever comes first.”

Veronica jutted out her chin. “Right,” she said, walking back over to Mac and Sam. Veronica looked at Mac. “Will you be okay here?” she asked.

Mac shook her head. “I’m coming with you,” she said.

“No,” said Veronica, gently. “You’re not. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have. We think he’s after me. You’re better off here, where it’s safe. Look, is there someone you can call?”

“Sam will stay with her,” Dean volunteered, and Sam looked at Dean for a moment and then nodded.

Mac still looked lost.

Veronica bit her lip, and then pulled out her own cell phone and hit speed-dial. Dean could hear a tinny recorded message. _“The future depends on what we do in the present. Mahatma Ghandi.”_

Veronica rolled her eyes. “It’s me,” she said. “Veronica. Listen, can you come to Mac’s apartment right away? We’ll explain when you get here.” She clicked the phone closed, and Dean followed her out the door.

*

Mac turned to Sam. “Where are they going?” she asked.

Sam tried to flash her a reassuring smile. “My guess?” he said. “Back to the graveyard.”

*

They hadn’t been in the graveyard for long when they saw a light bobbing and weaving in the distance. Veronica took off towards it. Dean cursed under his breath and followed. “Slow down,” he hissed.

“I’m not scared,” she said.

“Maybe you should be,” said Madison, as she stepped out of the shadows. The silver gun in her hands was pointed straight at Veronica, and Dean automatically raised his hands in surrender. “Whoa,” he said conciliatorily, “take it easy.”

Veronica took a different tactic. “Necromancy, Madison? _Really?”_

Madison sniffed. “We prefer the term ‘controlled reanimation,’ Veronica.”

“Let me guess,” said Veronica. “Black magic is the new black?”

“Something like that,” Madison conceded. Dean weighed up whether he should charge her – but the gun was still pointed straight at Veronica’s chest. Too risky.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Veronica. _Good girl_, thought Dean approvingly. _Keep her talking, keep her distracted._

“My mom died a few months ago. Well, not my mom, turns out. Mrs. Sinclair.” She laughed, a little hysterically. “I don’t know what to call her anymore.”

“Oh,” said Veronica. “I didn’t realise. Mac never said anything.”

“Yeah, well,” said Madison, “Mac _wouldn’t_. She’s sneaky like that. The whole time I was in Europe last year, she was cozying up to my family. Cutting me out. Getting to know her birth mother, apparently. Who I had been dumb enough to believe was my _actual_ mother. Stupid, right? _Whatever._ Anyway. I turned 21 last month, and with the wedding coming up, and Chip needing money for his company – well, I asked for access to my trust fund. So imagine my surprise when I found out that my mother had left most of her estate to her _biological_ daughter, sweet little Cindy Mackenzie. So,” Madison concluded. “I wanted to make that bitch suffer.”

“It’s times like these I wonder if you’ve ever _met_ Mac,” said Veronica thoughtfully. “Because words like ‘bitch’ and ‘suffer’ aren’t typical word associations for Mac – although they’re a bit more creative than ‘cheese,’ so - points for effort.”

Madison didn’t respond. She fidgeted with the gun in her hands, and Dean remembered – _keep her talking_. “What about the other graves,” he said, “why did you mess them up?”

“Distraction,” said Madison. “I wanted the sheriff’s department to assume it was just a standard vandalism.”

“So you made Lilly’s grave look like the focus of the attacks, just to muddy the waters,” said Veronica.

“What is it about Lilly Kane that sets this whole town in a frenzy even years later?” asked Madison. “I just don’t see the appeal. But it wasn’t all strategy on my part – to be honest, it was fun messing up her headstone. Better than therapy. Lilly Kane was a nasty piece of work – it’s no wonder you two were BFFs.”

“Criticisms on character are a bit rich coming from someone like you,” snorted Dean.

“You don’t even know me,” said Madison dismissively.

“I know you’re a cold manipulative bitch who doesn’t care who gets hurt in your schemes.”

“Me?” pouted Madison. “Why, I’m practically an _angel. _”

“Yeah,” said Dean, “and if you’ve met some of the ones I have you’d know that’s no compliment.”

“What are you going to do?” she smirked. “Kill me?”

“No,” said Dean, pointing. “But _he_ might.” That was when Cassidy snapped Madison’s neck.

Veronica screamed. Dean dashed over to her. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Cassidy was making a high, keening sort of noise, clutching at Madison’s limp body. Dean could feel Veronica shiver beside him. “When I give the word,” he said, “_run._”

And they did.

*

By the time Dean and Veronica had made it back to where the Impala was parked outside the graveyard, Sam was waiting for them – accompanied by Mac and Logan. Mac still looked shaken; Logan was tense and ready to snap at anyone. They were standing next to a silver SUV. “They wouldn’t stay behind,” Sam had mouthed at Dean when Dean had glared at him for dragging two _more_ civilians into this.

“He killed Madison?” said Sam. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “And Veronica was right there. He could have gone for her just as easily.”

“Well that’s the end of that theory,” said Sam. “So apart from Madison, the only person he’s shown any interest in is Mac.”

“Would you two stop talking about us like we’re not here?” said Veronica sharply.

“Sorry,” said Dean. “We’re just not used to hunting with the rest of the Planeteers.”

Mac shook her head. “I just –don’t understand why someone would do that.”

“Yeah, well, this is _Madison_,” said Veronica. “I gave up being surprised of what she was capable of back in junior high.”

“Don’t be too hard on her. Sometimes people just get caught up in things,” Dean said. “And sometimes what they get caught up in turns out to be bigger than they are.” Sam looked at him, startled. Dean shrugged, and resumed sorting through the weapons compartment of the Impala’s trunk.

“Maybe it’s my fault for not enunciating,” said Veronica, thoughtfully. “All those times we fought in high school, maybe she thought I was calling her a heinous _witch_.”

Logan snorted. “She must have been deaf,” he said, “because you enunciated pretty loudly. For a pocket-sized girl detective, you had a very shrill voice. Still do, actually.”

“Yeah,” she said lightly, “but you love me anyway.” She bit her lip, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Yeah,” said Logan, staring at his hands, “still do, actually.”

Dean coughed, twice. “This is all very heartwarming,” he said. “And I’m glad you crazy kids are patching things up. But right now, we’ve got a zombie on the loose.”

Mac shivered.

“It’ll be fine,” said Sam reassuringly. “We just need to lure Cassidy back to his coffin.”

“Then what?” said Veronica.

“Stake him,” Dean said, grimly, tossing Sam the stake. Sam caught it one-handed.

“And how exactly are you planning to lure him back?” asked Logan skeptically. “What are you, the zombie-whisperer?”

“You’ll need bait, right?” said Mac, twisting her hair nervously.

Veronica protested. “Mac!”

Mac shook her head. “No, it’s okay,” she said. “You said it yourself – it’s me he’s looking for. I just want this to be over with.”

“Good girl,” said Dean approvingly. “Listen, nothing’s going to happen to you. Sam will be there the whole time. The rest of us will wait back here – if there’s too many of us, he won’t approach.”

Sam and Mac set off to the grave-sites. The only sound was the crunch of gravel, which faded the further away they got, until eventually there was no noise at all.

Veronica leant against the trunk of the Impala. Logan hovered near her, kept glancing over at her every few seconds, as if checking she was still there. Veronica was too distracted to notice the scrutiny, though, otherwise Dean had no doubt that she would have called him on it.

“They’ll be okay,” said Dean. “Sam will take care of her.”

“You guys kill zombies often?” asked Logan.

“Honestly?” Dean said, “we’ve only come across a couple – still kind of a novelty. But we have the system down. And I’m sure Sam won’t break his arm this time.”

“_This_ time?” repeated Veronica.

That was when they heard the scream.

Veronica grabbed Logan’s arm. “That was Wallace,” she said.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Mac?” said Logan. “’Cause it sounded like a girl.”

“Definitely Wallace. Feel free to tease him about it later,” called out Veronica over her shoulder.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Dean said, “what did you do, invite _everyone_ you know?”

They were running, though, all three of them – had started as soon as they heard the scream. “Wait up,” protested Dean, jogging to get ahead of the pair of them. “Nobody goes off on their own, you hear me?”

*

“Sam! You find him?” hollered Dean, as they approached the grave site. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, standing there – a tall silhouette in the moonlight. Wallace stood beside him. Mac was clinging to his arm, looking shaken. “I took him out. But –“

“But _what?_” Dean said.

“Not before someone else found him too,” finished Sam, stepping aside, and that was when Dean saw the person behind Sam, crouched beside the coffin.

“Dick?” Veronica asked, incredulous.

“Hey, Ronnie,” said Dick, without looking up.

“Oh, _fuck,_” Logan said feelingly.

“Oh, hey Logan,” said Dick. He was staring at his hands as if they were the only things in the world.

“You guys know each other?” said Sam, looking between them.

“Yeah,” said Logan wearily – “this is Dick. Dick Casablancas, Cassidy’s brother. Dick, last I heard you were partying it up in Ibiza.”

Dick swiped his face. His eyes were bloodshot. “I was,” he said. “And then my lawyer contacted me. Said someone had been messing with Beav’s grave. And I – I had to come back and see what was going on.”

They all looked up as they heard the approaching footsteps. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, V,” said Weevil, walking towards them. “When you asked me to leave the gates open tonight, I didn’t realize it was because you were staging a high school reunion.”

He did a double-take of the scene before him – the open coffin, Cassidy’s body. “Holy mother of…” he said, crossing himself.

“Something like that,” Veronica said grimly. “Here, can you take Mac home?”

Mac walked across to Weevil, and buried her face in his shirt. He stroked her hair absently, eyes fixed on Cassidy’s body the whole time. “Hey,” he said, “hey, it’s going to be alright.” Then he locked eyes with Veronica, mouthed _what the fuck_.

She shrugged, shivered in the night-air.

Logan pulled off his jacket - and for a moment Dean thought he was going to offer it to Veronica – but instead Logan laid it gently across Cassidy’s face.

“C’mon,” Logan said, settling his arm across Dick’s shoulder and leaning in so that their foreheads were almost touching. “Let’s all go and get really, really hammered.”

*

“I was such a shitty brother,” said Dick, staring at the mounting pile of shot glasses in front of him. That’s not what brothers are meant to be like, y’know? I mean, he had all these things happening to him, and I just had no idea. No. Fucking. Idea.”

Dean slid him over another drink. Dick cradled the shot glass in his hand.

“_Fuck_,” Dick said, voice thick with emotion. “He was my _kid brother_, man. How could he be that messed up and I didn’t see it?”

Dean gulped his own shot down. It burnt his throat; tasted nothing like absolution.

*

“What are you going to do now?” asked Veronica.

“We better call our friend Missouri,” said Sam, “let her know it’s all been sorted.”

“Did you say Missouri?” Wallace asked. He and Logan were sitting opposite Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “You know her?”

“I know someone by that name, yeah,” said Wallace.

“Really?” Sam said. “Missouri Moseley?”

“That’s the one,” said Wallace. “She’s my mom’s sister – but I’ve never met her. I’m not even sure she knows I exist.”

Sam smiled. “She knows. Trust me.”

*

“You don’t understand,” said Dick, miserably. “Dad and I – we used to have competitions to see, to see,” he swiped his eyes, “_fuck_, to see if we could make the kid cry.”’

“That so,” said Dean, passing him another beer. Dick accepted it gratefully and downed it in three swallows. Sam was in the corner, talking to Logan, Wallace and Veronica. Every few minutes he kept looking up at Dean, as if checking he was still there.

“This one time,” Dick continued, as if he’d never stopped speaking, “I duct-taped his feet to his bike-pedals. _Fuck_. I mean, who does that?”

“You’re right,” Dean said levelly, “that’s a pretty shitty thing for a big brother to do. You should have done better by him.”

Dick gave a dismal sniff. “Yeah,” he said. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Nah,” said Dean. “I think you do know it.” He paused. “I knew guys like you in high school, Dick. I went to a lot of high schools, and there’s jerks and bullies wherever you go. Some grow out of it. Most don’t.”

“But,” said Dean, and Dick looked up at him, with something like hope in his eyes, “you can’t put it all on yourself. Sure, maybe you coulda been a better brother – but it goes both ways. Sounds to me like Cassidy could have given you more of a chance.”

“Don’t you blame him,” said Dick savagely. “Don’t you bring him into this.”

“He is this,” said Dean. “Whatever _this_ is. And see, the way you defended him just now – that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What do you mean?” said Dick.

“Well,” said Dean, “if you’d known that that coach guy – what’s his name?”

“Woody,” said Dick, and he didn’t sound drunk anymore. He sounded furious.

“Woody,” repeated Dean. “If you’d known Woody was messing with your kid brother like that…”

“I’d have killed him,” said Dick – fierce and fast, and truth burnt beneath the words.

“Exactly,” said Dean.

Dick slumped back in his seat, head in his hands. “I don’t know why he didn’t just _tell_ me,” he said, and he sounded lost and impossibly young.

“Yeah,” said Dean, swiping his hand across his chin. “Me either.”

*

“Poor Dick. He’s pretty messed up,” said Wallace.

“Yeah,” said Logan. “Family has that effect on people.” Veronica looked away, and when she looked back at him her eyes were softer, somehow.

“Do you have a brother?” Sam asked Logan.

“Not really,” said Logan, looking down. “I mean, technically, yes, but,” he trailed off. “It’s complicated.”

Sam shrugged. “So what. Families are always complicated, in my experience.”

Logan laughed. “No, trust me, my family complications are the kind usually reserved for Jerry Springer.”

“Try me,” said Sam.

“Well – there’s this guy. Charlie Stone. And he’s my half-brother. When I found out about him a few years back, I thought I’d get to know him, y’know?”

“Then what happened?” asked Sam, leaning forward.

“Turns out,” said Logan, voice brittle, “turns out, it was just some jerk-off who stole his identity and was _posing_ as my half-brother.” He laughed. “I mean, what are the chances of that, huh?”

“That does sound bizarre,” said Sam, steadfastly pushing away feelings that were rushing to the surface, because how could you miss someone you’d never known, not really? “What about the real Charlie? What happened to him?”

Logan blinked. “Nothing _happened_ to him,” he said. “After I found out - I tried to get in contact with him. He never returned my call.”

“So keep calling,” said Sam.

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Logan.

“Uh, yeah, actually it is,” said Sam. “Or it can be. And Logan – trust me, it’s worth it. Family’s always worth it.”

*

Veronica cornered them as they were leaving the bar. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“Back to burn Cassidy’s body,” said Sam, half-turning. “Just to be safe. We don’t know what kind of spell Madison used, but the fire should clear up any remnants.”

“Wait,” she said. “Let me come with you.”

“I’m coming too,” said Logan, appearing behind her.

“What?” said Dean. “No, you stay here with your friends. You’ve both had a rough night. Neither of you want to see this.”

Veronica looked oddly vulnerable. “No,” she said, “I don’t want to. But I think maybe I need to.”

Logan nodded. “I owe it to Dick,” he said, jutting out his chin.

“Shouldn’t you stay with Dick?” Sam said, a bit doubtful. They looked over. Dick was staring in fascination at the coaster on the table, moving it forwards and backwards.

“I’ll babysit him,” volunteered Wallace. “You two go.”

“Fine,” said Dean. “Let’s do this.”

As they walked out, Wallace clapped Dick on the shoulder. “C’mon, man,” he said, “that’s enough for tonight. Let’s get you outta here.”

*

They were silent all the way back to the graveyard. It was a standard salt-and-burn, and Dean and Sam made quick work of it, falling back into practiced motions - and this, at least, came easily.

The four of them huddled together as they watched the flames devour what was left of Cassidy Casablancas.

“As simple as that,” said Veronica, moving closer to Sam.

“Simple as that,” he echoed.

Logan was staring into the fire: flames reflected in his eyes, lazy smile lost somewhere along the way. When he spoke, his voice was savage. “What’s dead should stay dead.”

Dean slanted a glance across at Sam; rubbed his own shoulder and felt the traces of an angel’s hand. “Usually,” he said.

*

As they were walking out of the cemetery, Veronica pulled Dean aside. “What do we do about Madison’s body?”

“We leave it,” said Dean, looking at her steadily. “If no-one’s found it by tomorrow morning, call it in. Her family deserves some closure.”

“They’ll want to know what happened,” said Veronica. “What do we tell them?”

“Anything you like,” said Dean. “You can try the truth, but in my experience people generally don’t believe you.”

“They’ll probably blame you,” said Veronica.

“Perks of the job, sweetheart. Don’t worry, me and Sam, we’re used to it by now. Mostly.”

*

They stood there, outside the gates of graveyard. The sun was rising slowly on the horizon, gleaming off the polished metal fence.

“So – hunting the undead with the undead,” said Veronica, dusting off her hands. “Just another day in Neptune.”

“What,” said Dean, “no more Bonnie and Clyde jokes?”

Veronica grinned. “Nah,” she said, “I figured I’d go with the Hardy Boys –Halloween edition. Fits better with the Nancy Drew theme. Plus – they’re brothers.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “They are.” Dean was standing across from him, and shot him a smile, which Sam returned, and something loosened in his chest, because yeah, they were still piecing together the broken places between them, but they were brothers, and some things never changed.

“I guess that makes me Ned,” said Logan, resting his arm across Veronica’s shoulder cautiously. She didn’t lean in to the touch, but she didn’t pull away either.

“Wait,” said Veronica. “Who’s Ned?”

“Nancy’s boyfriend,” chorused Logan, Sam and Dean – and then looked at each other, dismayed.

“Seriously,” Veronica said, eyes dancing, “am I the only one here who _hasn’t_ read Nancy Drew?”

*

Once they got back to the Camelot Motel, Sam and Dean slept until about mid-afternoon, and then packed up, ready to get back on the road.

As he walked out of the motel room, duffle bag over his shoulder and Sam right behind, Dean had a moment of déjà vu – because there was Veronica examining his car - same pose as the first time he saw her. Wallace stood beside her, looking sheepish.

“What are you stealing this time?” Dean growled.

She turned around, flashed him an overly innocent smile. “Who, little old me?” she said. “Haven’t you heard – it’s more blessed to give than receive? I came to give you a goodbye present.”

“Huh,” said Dean, unconvinced. “That so?”

Sam interrupted. “What Dean is _trying_ to say,” he said, “is that was completely unnecessary, but very kind of you.”

“Don’t thank me yet – wait til you try them,” said Veronica, lifting the lid of the container she was holding. “I made you some of my famous snickerdoodles. Secret family recipe.”

“Snickerdoodles,” said Wallace, his eyes lighting up. Veronica batted his hand away. “They’re not for you,” she chided. His face fell, and she relented. “Yours are in my car.”

His grin stretched from ear to ear. “Veronica Mars, has anybody ever told you you’re a marshmallow?”

“Now, Wallace,” she said, “you know flattery will get you nowhere,” but she looked pleased.

Dean was watching the exchange in amusement, Sam by his side – until he felt Sam pull away, and walk over to Wallace.

“Hey Wallace,” said Sam, “mind if I talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Wallace, as he followed Sam a few steps away.

Veronica leant against the hood of the Impala. “So zombies are real,” she mused. “I guess ghosts really exist too, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Less Casper, more vengeful spirit – but yeah. They exist.”

Veronica nodded. “It’s silly,” she said. “Only… for the first few years after she died, I kept seeing her. Lilly. So – I wondered.”

“Could’ve been,” said Dean. “Were there cold spots? Strange noises?”

Veronica looked at him. “No,” she said. “I never knew if it was my imagination or – something else. It was usually dreams. Or just - glimpses. They mostly went away after Aaron was caught.”

“Yeah,” said Dean thoughtfully, “that could do it, the whole justice-is-served. But if they ever come back, or if anything else strange happens around here – you give us a call, you hear?”

“Yes sir,” said Veronica, with a mock-salute. “Who you gonna call?”

She _was_ sassy, Dean thought. Peppy, too.

*

Wallace shuffled on his feet, uncertain. “So,” he said, “why are you keeping me from those fine snickerdoodles?”

“Listen,” said Sam, “you know how we talked about Missouri last night? She’s the reason we came here in the first place, did you know that? She’s a psychic, had a vision that something dark was happening here in Neptune.”

Wallace looked a little spooked and a lot intrigued. “That so?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Anyway. I know she and your mom may not be on speaking terms, but that doesn’t mean you should miss out on the chance to get to know your own family. Something to think about, anyway. I know she’d love to hear from you.”

Wallace pocketed the slip of paper Sam handed him. “Thanks,” he said, and shook Sam’s hand. “Appreciate it.”

They walked back over to Dean and Veronica. “Everything okay, Wallace?” she said.

“Yeah,” Wallace grinned. “Just another long-lost-relative for me to track down.”

Veronica looked at him. “Really?” she said.

“Yeah,” said Wallace, “I’m taking it in my stride, these days.”

“That’s my Wallace,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Well,” Sam said, “we better hit the road. Thanks for everything, you two.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoed. “Thanks.”

She hugged them both, and Wallace shook Dean’s hand. “Thank you,” he said.

“Anytime,” Dean said, surprising himself by how much he meant it.

They got in the car, and Dean started the engine and was about to pull away from the curb – when Veronica rapped sharply on the window – once, twice.

He rolled it down.

“Maybe I’ll see you round, Winchesters,” Veronica said – and it wasn’t until she looked at him expectantly that Dean placed what she was quoting, realized this was his cue.

“Count on it,” he said, and winked.

He watched in the rearview mirror as she and Wallace waved goodbye; their reflections growing smaller and smaller until finally they were lost to the scenery.

*

It wasn’t until three hundred miles down the road, when Dean was pulled over at the gas station, that he looked through the backseat window and saw it. “Sam! Have you seen this?” he hollered.

Sam stopped his weird stretching routine and ambled over to take a look. “What the hell,” he began, holding up an expensive-looking card-copying machine. There was a note attached - written on My Little Pony paper, all the I’s dotted with exaggerated hearts. _“I asked Weevil if you could have this. Thought it would be a step up from the Copy Jack.” _

Dean laughed. “Cute,” he said. “Hey, Sam! Looks like you and Veronica have the same taste in stationary.” Sam punched him on the shoulder, but he was smiling, a _real_ smile.

“Shut your pie-hole,” Sam said, grinning.

“What,” retorted Dean, “you gonna make-gmph—” and then his mind shut down in snickerdoodle-induced bliss at the cookie Sam had just crammed into his mouth.

Sam licked the crumbs off his fingers. “Gonna have to ask her for that recipe.”

Next to him, Dean made a blissful agreeing sound.

 


End file.
